Returned to Savagery
by reveur-amira
Summary: A crypt containing an entire centuries-old civilization of past Halloweeners bent on mortal terrorism led by an evil Pumpkin King is opened. Highly displeased with Jack's "no hurting humans" rule, these ancient fiends have come to take back their town...
1. Riding the Echo Down

**Author's Note:** Bonsoir, mes amis! It's been a little while! Amidst school and work I've kind of fallen off the radar as far as goes, much to my own dismay, but fear not…I have been lurking in the shadows and following a lot of great stories by some very talented authors here.

Honestly, I never thought I'd be struck with an idea quite so inspiring as for my first story (_What the Eyes Don't See_), but by some grace of the heavens…at last I was! I'm kind of a commitment-phobe in regards to creative writing and I tend not to embark on extensive projects unless I'm positively certain about their potentialities. That being said, I'm pretty excited about my plans for this feature-length fic, and I sincerely hope you guys take as much delight in this creation as you did my last! Thank you all _**so**_ much for your sincerity and dedication!

Without further adieu, I begin with the introductions:

_**This story takes place precisely one year before the events of the original film. **_

_**Rated T for language, drug/alcohol use, and suggestive themes.**_

Story by Amira; all related characters/settings are property of Tim Burton and Walt Disney Studios.

"_If you reveal your secrets to the wind you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees."_

_- Khalil Gibran_

_Beep…beep…beep…beep…_

Oogie Boogie grunted in frustration. He shifted a couple paces to the right and kicked over a mound of dirt, only to uncover yet again another Bloodweiser beer bottle cap.

Suddenly a trio of tiny masked imps scampered over from the edge of the bay to where their burlap guardian stood staring intently at the water-sodden ground. They skidded to a halt several yards back and removed their masks, revealing the young, momentarily confused faces of a witch, a devil and a troll.

The little witch – Shock was her name – laid a hand to the side of her narrow face and chirped, "Come on, Oogie; the metal detector _again?_"

"Yeah man, punch out for the day!" added the devil child – Lock – with his arrowed tail flicking irksomely. "You've been out here since 5a.m. We want breakfast. What are you doing with that thing anyway?"

"Barrel's birthday's coming up," the boogeyman announced, pausing to adjust the settings on his device. Then he turned to the three children and held out his fingerless limb, in his palm resting several rusted coins. "I've already got thirty-seven cents," he added proudly.

"That's better than what he got me last year," the little troll known as Barrel muttered dryly under his breath.

Oogie smiled, shaking his head slightly. With considerable effort he attempted to climb the grimy slope that led from the swamp grounds up to the east base of Spiral Hill, cursing when the fresh muck swallowed up one of his stubby legs and he tripped.

"Ack!" the sack man grunted, struggling to yank his foot free. "Hey, punks! Care to offer your old man a little help over here?"

Shock rolled her eyes and grabbed the hands of her two playmates. "Coming, Gramps."

The tricksters scurried over to their fallen guardian and threw his metal detector over the peak of the slope, Shock and Lock grabbing hold of his arms while Barrel firmly grasped the ankle of his sunken foot. It took at least several ardent _heave-ho's!_ before they succeeded in hoisting Oogie up and over the incline.

Clumsily lifting himself upright, Oogie growled and brushed the dirt off of his burlap. He peered displeasingly down at the three demon children lying belly-down on the earth and breathing heavily. "Did you have to _throw_ the metal detector?" he growled, shuffling over to retrieve said item from a cluster of reeds.

Shock craned her neck back to glare at Oogie spitefully. "Hey, how about a thank-you?" she accused.

"Right, okay, whatever," Oogie mumbled nonchalantly as he began scanning the ground at the east perimeter of the larger Spiral Hill.

"You know, it's not really fair," Lock began after rising from his fallen position and brushing off his own red onesie. "Why does Barrel get thirty-seven cents, and counting? When Shock and I turned eight last month you only gave us a nickel."

"And you made us share it," Shock added miserably.

Oogie let out a gravely chuckle. "Children, children children…see, this is how parenting works: With the older ones, it's only natural that you're going to make some mistakes. But hopefully you'll learn from such experiences and do a better job with the younger kids. Lock, do you remember the old days how when you and Shock would get smart with me I used to deny you water?"

The devil child and the little witch glanced at each other with disgruntled expressions. "What do you mean, 'used to'?" said Shock. "You denied me water just a couple days ago when I wore your galoshes out just to fetch the mail."

"Nevertheless," Oogie resumed, turning his back to the imps. "I know now to never withhold Barrel's source of water."

"Well, Barrel, I guess that explains your bed-wetting problem," Shock muttered to the troll child whose cheeks flushed bright red in embarrassment.

The gang was silent for a few minutes after that as Oogie continued his mediocre treasure hunting. Humming impatiently, Shock stuffed her hands in her coat pockets and glanced in the direction of the Hinterlands where the pumpkin sun proceeded with its gradual ascent into the sky. It was late September in the year 1958, and this time of the season was the beginning of the so-called "rush-hour phase" of Halloween Town's preparations for its respective holiday. While Shock and her playmates always liked the idea of Halloween (for if they didn't then living in such a town would be unfortunate), they rarely ever contributed to the grand celebratory evening. They preferred to play the role of "conniving little brats" year-round, pulling pranks on the denizens of Halloween Town with the blessing of their guardian, the infamous town outlaw, Oogie Boogie.

Shock's nose crinkled as a breath of chilling, foul-scented wind whipped across the terrain from the lagoon below. Why was Oogie so keen on searching for treasure in _this_ location? Did he actually believe pirates once sailed the murky waters of a fifty-foot by fifty-foot runoff basin? The little witch sniffled again as they were hit with yet another burst of cold air. She plugged her nose…she thought the wind smelled like beets.

"Whoa, hold up gang!" Oogie abruptly shouted, startling the imps trailing leisurely behind him beside the hill. "I think I got something here! My metal detector's going crazy." He tossed the device aside and began madly digging into the ground with bare hands.

Lock, Shock and Barrel approached him inquisitively, half-expecting it to be simply another bottle cap.

Suddenly Oogie cried out in pain as his knuckle struck a sheet of iron. He took a moment to massage the tender area and then proceeded to brush away the surrounding layers of dirt. His vacant burlap eye sockets widened incredulously.

"Kids…come here…" he whispered.

Shock was the first to arrive at the boogeyman's side, followed closely by her two playmates. The four ghouls gathered around the finding intently, each of them drawing in a rather befuddled gasp when they realized precisely what Oogie had discovered: a large iron door.

"What the hell is this…?" Barrel finally spoke, running his fingers over its rusted surface. He winced slightly, suggesting the iron was unusually frigid.

"I think it might be some kind of crypt," suggested Lock. "Look; next to the handle there's some writing on it."

They all inspected the area to which Lock was pointing, and sure enough, written in some sort of cryptic, E. E. Cummings style caveat was:

2(ba

th e

in

mor

tal'

s

B)lo

o

d

Shock cleared her throat awkwardly. "So, um…" she said, "We got any poetry buffs around here?"

Lock, Barrel and Oogie all shook their heads.

"Well then…what do you guys propose we do about it?"

Suddenly Oogie shifted upright, conducting a brief albeit nervous survey of his surroundings. "Tell you what, fellas," he murmured quietly. "Why don't y'all go on back to the tree house and start whipping up some pancake batter. I'll take care of this…door."

"What are you gonna do to it?" asked Barrel innocently.

"Come on, Barrel, let's just get outta here," said Shock as she stood up and grasped the hands of her playmates. "That weird beet smell is getting stronger and it's making me sick."

Somewhat reluctantly, Lock and Barrel rose from their anthropological statures and followed the little witch down the base of Spiral Hill. They only stopped once to glance back at their guardian, who remained rigidly hunched over the entrance to the mysterious burial chamber.

Shock believed she was the only one who noticed his arm reaching for the handle.

_**Meanwhile…**_

"The red."

"Good, why?"

"…The blue."

"Come on, Jack!" whined the cone-shaped man sitting across the desk backstage in the Town Hall. "Halloween is just over a month away, and we are up to our necks in last-minute essentials. Well, we're up to _your_ neck; since I'm shorter than you I've already drowned. Now tell me again: do you prefer the red goblets or the blue?"

"Mayor, please," Jack groaned, resting his face in his skeletal palms. "I know you're only an elected official but you can still make decisions by yourself. In fact, you must. Yes, as your Pumpkin King Jack Skellington, I command you to take these plans home right now and decide which goblets _you_ like the best."

The Mayor leaned back in his chair and twiddled his thumbs nervously. The discomfited expression on his pale blue face contorted into one of intense thought, which lasted for only a short minute until finally he croaked, "I…I don't know that I can."

"You know, you've really got to have more self-esteem," said Jack as he rose from his seat and stretched his sore limbs. He cracked his jaw and then turned swiftly around to face the back door. "I'll see you in an hour."

"Wait, where are you going?" the Mayor pleaded frantically.

"Lunch; I'm starving," Jack stated without pausing to look back. "I was supposed to leave for my break half an hour ago, but you insisted on doing away with the goblets so they would stop 'taunting' you…you know Mayor, therapy can be a _good_ thing –"

"Maybe I'll go with you!" the Mayor chimed in abruptly, hopping down from his chair at the planning desk. "I want to stretch my legs, after all."

"Why, so they can touch the floor?" Jack chuckled dryly.

"Oh, _ha-ha!_"

"Take it easy now."

Grinning, Jack held the back door open for the scouring cone man who putt-putted through it contemptuously.

Once the two officials had exited the building, Jack fumbled for his keys and proceeded to lock the door securely behind them. He then turned and trotted after the Mayor who was already on his way down the cobblestone path towards the plaza.

"So where did you want to go for lunch?" asked the Mayor with a twinge of sourness in his voice once Jack had caught up to him.

"Anywhere," said Jack, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm so hungry that I've been smelling beets for the past hour. And I don't even like beets."

Noticeably sniffing at the incoming breeze, the Mayor bobbed his head thoughtfully. "You know, I smell the beets too. I wonder if it's some new restaurant in town."

Jack scoffed and diverted his gaze towards the distant moor, the direction from which the bitter wind had blown. "Well, whoever happen to be the owners of this new 'beet shop,'" he muttered abstractedly, "tell them best of luck staying in business."


	2. Into the Silver Dawn

**Author's Note:** Just a little head's up to those who haven't yet read my last story ("What the Eyes Don't See"), this NBC "universe" I've utilized contains some relatively mature content that is meant to contribute solely to the humorous appetites of older NBC fans like myself. That being said, try not to be too appalled at the strange antics of some of the characters (primarily those of Lock, Shock, and Barrel)…you'll get used to it, I promise. In addition: this such humor does not intend to detract from the seriousness of this story – in fact it shall be integrated for more of comic relief purposes, in part due to the heavy drama we will soon encounter. Anyways, that's enough rambling on my part. Enjoy, folks!

Thank you ever so kindly to BJXCBFOREVER (and of course Mav) for reviewing the introduction! As for the rest, account owner and anonymous reader alike, feedback is much appreciated. Thanks!

"_Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead their lives, but none about his or her own."_

_- Paul Coelho_

"I don't know what a beet smells like. It just smells like…a beet."

Shock was recounting the odd events of the previous day to fellow 8-year-old cohort Billy Corpsechild on a bench outside of his apartment complex (which was located up in the northeast end of Hemlock Homestead).

Billy, a stout, pasty-skinned creature with swollen eyelids that were always stitched shut was actually Lock's best friend as well as his marijuana supplier. In fact, Shock's conversation with Billy this blustery morning was merely a byproduct of an errand that Lock had requested her to run for him while he and Oogie were out gambling at the race track. Shock herself was never particularly fond of Billy, for he always seemed to have this annoying flirtatious nature towards her and thus she tried to avoid extended conversation with him whenever possible. She wasn't sure why she felt different about it today; suppose she just needed someone else to talk to.

"As bizarre as that sounds," Billy mused while attempting to scoot closer to Shock, "I think you're overreacting."

Shock resisted his pathetic advance. She stood up from the park bench, crossing her arms. "What is there to overreact about?" she asked. "I just said I thought it was strange that the beet smell came about almost the same time Oogie discovered that crypt. I don't know…don't you think it's a bit odd?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Billy withdrew a crumpled pack of Snarlboro Red's from his shirt pocket and offered it up to Shock.

With a meager half-smile Shock obliged, selecting a cigarette from the box and placing it between her lips.

"Where did you get these?" she asked as Billy handed her a lighter.

"Stole 'em out of my parents' room," the corpse kid answered casually. "Sad to say that my parents aren't as cool as yours; buying you beer and cigarettes whenever you ask."

Shock rolled her eyes slightly. "Okay so first of all, I don't know my parents. I was adopted, remember? Second of all, the only reason Oogie started buying me that kind of stuff at age seven was because he knew that Lock, Barrel and me, being friends with you, would have picked up a nasty habit sooner or later."

Billy scoffed, lighting a cigarette of his own. "That is one dumbass reason," he grumbled under his breath. "You know, Oogie was supposed to be _my_ godfather! It's my parents who went to high school with him, not yours. It's not fair that you and Tweedledee and Tweedledum get him first."

"Hey, look at it this way. If Bob and Darla drop dead then you're on deck!"

"You're a freak," Billy chuckled softly. "But a pretty damn sexy one at that…"

Shock's half-smile faded. She suddenly glowered at him, taking several steps backward. "When hell freezes over…twice."

Billy shrugged again, accepting temporary defeat, and leaned back on the park bench. He took a drag off his cigarette.

"Look man, I gotta get going now," said Shock as she turned around and buttoned her pea coat. "Thanks for the pot. I'll see you later."

With that the little witch scampered off down the cobblestone road, heading fast for the Towers of Terror where she was allegedly supposed to pick up Barrel from his friend Crate's house.

Billy grinned, watching her go lustfully. "Someday she'll come around," he mumbled to himself. "One can only resist the charms of Billy Corpsechild for so long before collapsing at my feet and begging to be mine. Oh, yes. It won't be soon before long."

_**Meanwhile…**_

"Why do you keep bothering me about this, Mayor?"

"Because, Jack, I believe there's a very simple solution to all of your restlessness: settling down."

"Oh, don't put your spin on it, please. The only reason you want me to get married is because a long time ago I promised that you could be Best Man at my wedding."

"…Why is that so wrong?"

The two conversing Halloween Town officials sat in a small diner next to the Witches' Shop on Main Street. They occupied a booth next to the window which looked out past the central fountain and guillotine monument. Two steaming mugs of espresso sat in the center of the table, and the Mayor, looking somewhat discomfited, claimed the cup closest to him and stirred in two packets of Splenda. He took a sip, relishing its bold flavor, and then set it down and lifted his gaze towards the Pumpkin King across from him.

Jack sighed, doing his best to avoid the Mayor's pitying stare and brought his own cup of coffee to his lips. Although it was true that he hadn't courted anyone in over two years, he didn't understand why that was such a high priority on the Mayor's list of concerns (which was incredibly long, mind you). He was perfectly content being single for the time being. Besides, was it not a prerequisite for committing to a relationship that one be first satisfied with himself? That was the main aspect of personality overlooked by both of his parents, Jack believed. Neither of them had really found what they were looking for in themselves by the time they eloped – not to mention they were incredibly young; just out of high school – and for that they found no other solution to their augmenting conflicts than to divorce back in 1941. And Jack extracted from all of the childhood pain and confusion as a result of that event a valuable lesson: marriage is toxic.

Interrupting Jack's silent train of thought, the Mayor cleared his throat and resumed, "You know, this town is going to need a queen sooner or later."

Jack set his mug down, brow furrowed. "Says who?"

"Never mind."

"Will you just tell me what your problem is, already?"

The Mayor let out an exasperated sigh, intertwining his stubby fingers on top of his vinyl, plaid-colored placemat. "Jack, you're 28 years old," he said. "Haven't you…hey, wait, what about that Sally Finklestein?"

Jack blushed slightly and stared down at his espresso. "Okay, fine," he muttered. "Sally is pretty, but we're just good friends. Don't be jumping to any conclusions, like I know you're doing right now. I couldn't court Sally…"

"Well why the hell not?" exclaimed the Mayor, suddenly delighted.

"Because," Jack continued, nervously tracing the rim of his coffee mug with his skeletal finger. "I wouldn't want to put our friendship in jeopardy, and besides, she's too young. She just turned 22 last month. Remember what I said about finding yourself before committing to a relationship?"

The Mayor's face, having spun around to reveal its elated side, fell slightly. He was still grinning however, and he reached across the table in attempt to pat Jack on the shoulder (but alas, he was too short and Jack was too tall, even while sitting down).

If Jack had eyes he would have rolled them. "Plus, you know, the Doctor is weirdly protective of her. I feel like…oh dear."

"What, what is it?" the Mayor questioned, noticing Jack suddenly lay a hand to the side of his face as if to conceal his identity.

At that moment, a petite, scaly waitress approached their booth, sporting a black and orange apron with two menus tucked in the bottom left pocket. Her pouty, fish-like lips pursed gamely upon realizing that her customers were two acclaimed town officials.

"Well hello there Mister Mayor…Bone Daddy," she greeted them seductively in a vague Russian accent. "I'm Anastasia Finn and I will be your server today."

Jack nodded curtly, still averting his gaze, and the Mayor compensated for his companion's impolite behavior by shaking Anastasia's clammy, webbed hand.

"Good to see you, Anastasia," the cone man said pleasantly. "I see you're working morning shifts, now."

Smiling as if to affirm the keen observation, the Undersea Gal extracted the two menus from her apron pocket and placed them delicately in front of the Mayor and Jack. "Yep," she replied casually. "Though actually, I just got a job at Scarebucks down the road so I don't think I'll be here much longer. I'm not the type of person to want to work multiple jobs at once."

"I'd say that's wise. Don't want to get overworked."

"Hmm. Say…is he alright?" Anastasia gestured curiously to Jack, who now had his skull completely buried in his hands. He seemed to be trying his best to remain utterly still.

"Uh, yeah," the Mayor croaked nervously, casting the Pumpkin King an irritated glance (although Jack could not see this). "He's just…praying. He does this before every meal, best not to interrupt him."

"Ah, I see," said Anastasia, nodding slowly. "Well, I'll give you gentlemen a chance to look over the menu. I'll be back in five to take your order." She started for the opposite direction, though suddenly she whipped back around and placed something else on the table. "I almost forgot," she added almost reluctantly. "It's complimentary fortune cookie day. Come back tomorrow and we'll be giving out shoehorns…Enjoy your stay."

With that the waitress slinked off, and at last Jack uncovered his face. He groaned and took another sip of espresso, not bothering to succumb to the Mayor's obvious scowl. The fortune cookie randomly sitting in the center of the table caught his eye and he took it, proceeding to bounce it playfully up and down in his palm.

After a minute of silence the Mayor finally accused, "What was that all about?"

Jack still didn't return his gaze. "What was what about?"

"That – with the waitress. You were being incredibly rude, Jack. That's not like you at all."

Sighing through his nose, Jack continued to examine the fortune cookie, at last contending to break it ever so carefully. He unfurled the little piece of paper within, squinting harshly to read the black text. Though before he could do so, the Mayor snatched it up out of his fingers, placing it face-down on the saucer on which his coffee had been delivered.

"My God, Mayor," said Jack, sitting up straight. "You're so uptight today."

The Mayor said nothing but continued to stare displeasingly back at Jack.

At last Jack resigned. "Fine, you want to know? Anastasia has been the biggest, most unseemly flirt ever since the day I met her. It's almost disturbing, the way she regards our purely _platonic_ relationship. And for some reason which is beyond me, she hasn't received any of my signals of disinterest. Either that or she just doesn't take 'no' for an answer. Okay?"

"Okay," grumbled the Mayor, accepting the compromise. "Have you ever actually gone on a date with this woman?"

"Heavens, no!" Jack replied, disgusted. He grabbed the little paper fortune back from the Mayor's saucer and began to unfold it once again. "Just speaking for myself, I don't fancy the harlot type."

Holding the fortune so close it was mere inches away from the bridge of his nose, Jack scrutinized the black text and then raised a curious eyebrow as to what it read. It was an old Ukrainian proverb:

"_A tale that begins with a beet will end with the devil."_

Confused though as well mildly entertained, Jack shook his head slightly and crumpled up the small piece of paper, tossing it in the waste bin to the side of their table.


	3. A Leaf Falls on Loneliness

**Author's Note:** Hello, friends! I apologize for the long gap between updates. It's finals week at the university and I've had lots to do. But fear not, for here I present you with the next chapter in our tale.

p.s. Thank you dearly once again to BJXCBFOREVER (and of course Maverick) for reviewing! Feedback is always coveted. Remember that you can submit a review regardless of whether or not you own an account on this website. Notwithstanding, I still see the rest of you in my traffic stats, so…I suppose I am satisfied.

"_Sometimes you believe a thing that isn't true because in the world you wish to live in, it would be true."_

– _Robert Brault_

"Sally? Is that soup ready yet?"

"Coming!"

Stirring the massive black cauldron vigorously, Sally Finklestein let out a long sigh and wiped the beads of sweat off her forehead with a dishrag. She chuckled to herself…it was almost like she was dabbing herself with a piece of her own flesh.

A delicate, meek, soft-spoken ragdoll woman, Sally was Doctor Finklestein's prized creation of twenty-two years. She was composed entirely of rags, wore a patchwork dress, and all the way down to the small of her back cascaded a fountain of long, sleek auburn locks. Although she had been told by the few others with whom she'd ever been in contact that she was exceptionally beautiful, Sally didn't feel that way all of the time. Well, any of the time, to be completely honest.

Her entire life she'd acted as a milquetoast servant for the Doctor in exchange for food and shelter. She'd tried to escape several times, knowing the Doctor (being bound to a wheelchair) probably wouldn't be apt to catching her, but due to her hindering anxieties and limited knowledge of the outside world she always ended up returning to the lab to fix her creator's meals, press his lab coats and resume with other maidly duties of the sort. It was the only way of life Sally knew, after all.

The soup was almost ready; she could tell by the scent. The trick to this delicate recipe was to add just a pinch of witch hazel so that it mingled aromatically with the nutmeg and paprika, thus creating a harmony of spices to accent the bog's brain that had sat for precisely two hours simmering in worm's wart broth. Sally smiled…she'd really outdone herself this time. She bent down and rifled through the utensil drawer beneath the stovetop until her fingers enclosed around a plastic ladle. She withdrew the device, her nose crinkling upon examination of the handle. It was covered in messy bite marks.

"I guess Igor found a new chew toy," she mumbled spitefully to herself.

Oh, Igor, that poor, unfortunate soul…he was the Doctor's meth-addicted lab rat. Sally wasn't exactly sure where Igor came from, nor did she know how he developed an addiction to methamphetamine (a laboratory accident, perhaps? But then again, what would the doctor be doing with such an illicit drug? Sally was never that motivated to ponder these things extensively; she merely resorted to accepting them for what they were). She did know however that Igor had been around her entire life and she'd always regarded him as sort of a pet…albeit regretfully, the pitiable thing.

"Hurry it up, Sally! I'm not getting any younger!" The echo of her creator's whiny, guttural voice made Sally tense resentfully.

"Almost done, Doctor!" she called up the winding stairwell. "Condescending old windbag…"

"What was that, Sally?"

"I'm sending you a gift bag!" She cringed at her horrible save.

"Oh, how nice," Dr. Finklestein croaked from aloft. "I hope the gift is a bowl of soup. Chop-chop, missy!"

Rolling her eyes, Sally dunked the chewed-up ladle into the cauldron and took a light sip of her culinary masterpiece. Just as she expected: it tasted as divine as it smelled. What little credit she received for producing such art! The only time anyone ever praised her skills was when she'd prepared a business lunch for both the Doctor and Jack Skellington. Jack was so nice, a true gentleman…with every dish she brought out he'd just go on and on about how talented a cook she was and how lucky Dr. Finklestein was to have her around…and the Doctor, being the two-faced kiss-ass that he was, even forced out a few compliments of his own for fear of relaying his true crotchety, demanding, ungrateful self under the judgment of the Pumpkin King.

That wasn't the only reason she liked Jack, however. Whenever Sally did happen to be let out in public (which, sadly, was a rare occasion that almost always involved running errands for the Doctor) Jack went out of his way to approach her and kindly inquire as to her state of being. Plus, Sally had to admit, he _was_ without a doubt the most handsome man in all of Halloween Town. Oh, what she would give to learn more about him…

Another shrill, obnoxious call from the Doctor startled Sally out of her daydream and she scrambled across the room to the spice cabinet in pursuit of just a tad more witch hazel. She flung open the cupboard doors and pushed several jars aside until at last she encountered the witch hazel and…a beet?

Raising her brow in perplexity, Sally reached for the foreign object hesitantly and brought it out into the light. Indeed it was a crimson-colored beet; there was no denying that. But what was it doing in her spice cabinet? Sally never bought beets anyways, for neither she nor the Doctor cared for them much. It was quite odd indeed…

"Hmm, I don't remember putting that there," she mused quietly. She shrugged and carried it with her back towards the cauldron, still staring at it in bewilderment. "Ah, you know what? It's probably Igor's. I recall that he has a taste for these strange vegetables." She felt like a madwoman talking to herself, but it always seemed to help her sort out her anxieties. That, and writing in her journal.

"Sally, this is the last time I'm going to tell you," Dr. Finklestein shouted down the stairs yet again, "Bring me that damn soup already! I've got lots of work to do and you're throwing my entire day off schedule!"

"Alright, already!" Sally spat in response. She clenched her fists in frustration, squeezing the beet so hard that it dripped a deep burgundy liquid down her forearm. Great, that was sure to leave a stain. Scowling bitterly she tossed the beet into the cauldron, ignoring the fact that she'd just destroyed the fragile balance of all the ingredients she had selected and combined with far too great a care, and marched up the stairs to deliver lunch to her gruff and unappreciative master.

_**Meanwhile…**_

Shock sat upon the faux leather couch in the tree house living room with an E.E. Cummings poetry compilation she'd checked out from the library. Okay, fine; she didn't possess a library card and had no motivation to acquire one, so instead she snuck into Jack's study while he was out with the Mayor and stole the book from his extensive collection. _Like he'd notice the absence of _one_ stupid piece of literature…what was he trying to prove with all those books anyways?_

At that moment, Barrel approached her from the kitchenette across the room and plopped down in a finely crocheted armchair (the only well-kept accent in their rather shabby dwelling). He crudely scratched his armpit, staring at Shock with a confused expression plastered upon his greenish, ovular face.

"Shock," he began slowly, "are you actually reading a book?"

Shock flashed him a brief, narrowed-eyed glance. "What's it to you, Tubby? Do me a favor; I got half a fifth of vodka left in my room. Go sip on that quietly in a corner 'til I'm done here."

"Geeze," replied Barrel, taken aback. "It must be that time of the month…"

"I'm eight years old, you Dipstick."

"Alright, alright, I'm out!" Barrel abruptly rose from his seat, taking a few steps back toward the kitchenette before Shock suddenly grabbed him by the arm.

"Whoa there, I actually need to talk to you about something," the little witch interjected, her eyes fixated on the page to which she'd just turned.

Barrel paused and looked at her warily. "…I thought you just told me to beat it."

"Yeah, and I say a lot of things," Shock muttered, waving her hand lightly. "Look, it's about the crypt Oogie found the other day…I've been trying to figure out how to decipher the strange writing that was on it."

"What made you think to look in an E.E. Cummings book?" inquired the troll child who, putting their sibling rivalry to bed for a moment ensconced upon the couch cushion next to Shock.

Running her finger over the crisp, sun-faded page, Shock replied, "I don't know. I just remember that there was this one poem we learned about in school last year that, now that I think about it, reminds me a lot of the inscription we found on the tomb." At last she pressed her index finger firmly upon a queer set of letters clustered in the far right corner of the open page. "This…" she said softly. "Do you know what this says?"

Cocking his bulbous head to the side, Barrel scooted in closer to the little witch and scrutinized the bizarre text. It read:

l(a

le

af

fa

ll

s)

one

l

iness

Shock watched her playmate intently while a smug little half-smile crept onto her narrow cheeks. She could sense Barrel's growing frustration as he wrestled with the letters, accompanied by the unsettling air of mystery that had first encompassed the group when they spotted such a prose embossed on the strange iron door at Spiral Hill.

"It says, 'a leaf falls on loneliness,'" Shock whispered at last, closing the book.

Barrel glanced up at her oddly, his expression hard to define. He leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, and finally he said, "As interesting a breakthrough as this is…have you tried using that to go back and decipher the message on the crypt yet?"

Shock sighed, feeling suddenly crestfallen. "No," she lamented. "Oogie covered the iron door back up so I don't know where to find it."

"Why don't you take his metal detector back out there and search for it again?"

"Ha! Yeah, right."

"I'm serious! I mean, why not?"

Snorting contemptuously, Shock patted the befuddled troll child's shoulder. "Oh, Barrel. I think it's cute how you're still a little naïve."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You're Oogie's favorite, his 'star pupil,'" Shock grumbled, her voice sharp with bitterness. "Of course you don't understand. See, if you were to snag his metal detector and run all the way out to Spiral Hill with it, you'd probably get what…a spanking? Maybe a slap to the head? But me, if I were to do the exact same thing under the exact same circumstances, well…it would most probably be the last thing I ever did. And I'm not exaggerating."

Barrel, quite obviously aggravated, opened his mouth to respond when suddenly the front door of the tree house swung open. Into the domain stepped Lock and Oogie Boogie, both clad in pea coats, wool scarves and those _hilarious_ little recycled-yarn beanies with the silly balls on top.

"Damn, it's freezing out there!" announced Lock as he kicked off his boots. He draped his scarf and beanie over the hat rack and stuffed his pea coat into the hall closet. Oogie silently followed suit, looking oddly disturbed.

Shock craned her neck over the backboard of the sofa, glancing at her fellow companions apathetically. "In spite of the fact that I don't really care, I'm obligated to ask: how was your day at the race track?"

Lock's face lit up in haughty pleasantry. "Ha, well actually –"

"That's great," replied Shock as she retracted her gaze in disinterest. _However much money he won, he'd better use it to pay me back for picking up his "prescription" from Billy this morning,_ she thought wryly.

At that moment Barrel, who had been watching the sullen Oogie across the room disconcertedly, piped up, "How was your day, Oogie? Did you win any money?"

The boogeyman said nothing but he merely lumbered into the kitchenette, proceeding to open the icebox and rifle through its contents.

"Um, hello?" said Barrel as he rose once again from his seat on the couch.

Still unresponsive, Oogie continued digging through the icebox, his motions becoming increasingly frantic until it was as if he'd dropped a fifteen thousand dollar diamond. The three demon children exchanged bewildered glances and Lock even threw in a shrug.

They all gasped in unison when they finally witnessed their leader extract a large, rufescent beet from the cooler. What was extremely puzzling aside from the unexpected presence of this vegetable itself was that it bore not a single shard of ice crystal…like it had been placed inside the freezer mere minutes ago.

Shock cleared her throat awkwardly. It was as if time froze for a moment, and while she continued to stare at the beet in Oogie's burlap grip she finally dared to speak, "So, um…what's that?"

Almost immediately, Oogie collapsed at the foot of the icebox, sending the blood-red culprit rolling perfidiously across the floor.


End file.
